Weep For You
by makolane
Summary: Slash - After his lover's betrayal, Henry V ponders.


*** Weep For You ***

Category: **Slash**, Angst, 1st Person POV  
Fandom: Shakespeare - Henry V  
Pairing: Henry V/Lord Scroop of Masham  
Disclaimer: Aren't these public domain by now?  
Archive: Anywhere, please keep headers intact  
Summary: After his lover's betrayal, Henry ponders. 

Title: "Weep For You" by mako  
Email: [makolane@aol.com][1]

------  
Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow,  
Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours,  
That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell  
His sovereign's life to death and treachery.  
------

Had I met you in my youth, boisterous, misguided thing it was,  
I'd have not looked twice. You were at once too fair, too  
noble ... far too gentle for such a scoundrel as I was then.  
But with harsher duty comes finer taste and your entrance into  
our court was the beginning of my better days, or so I  
thought.

How I wish I'd not looked but once.

Our uncle of Exeter did the introductions at the foot of my  
throne. "My Liege, this is Scroop, known as Henry, Lord of  
Masham."

You bowed prettily as a maid, the green of your eyes beggaring  
May's fields. "My Liege."

I stayed silent too long I think, for you paled beneath my  
scrutiny, wondering if you'd committed some offense by your  
mere presence before us. In truth, I was struck dumb with  
love at the first sight of you, if such a thing were possible.  
Indeed, it must have be, since I'd never been at a loss for  
words before or since.

Except when the truth about you was finally known.

"Welcome, Lord Scroop." That was all I said but your guard  
lowered at that instant and you smiled sweetly, as if a secret  
had been uncovered -- a secret you and I shared alone.

Did my eyes betray me? Was my heart in my voice, some slight  
inflection that gave the game away or was it just a lucky  
guess, one of many you'd make over the next year and a half,  
until your last, fatal mistake.

"I am honored, my Liege." Another bow, a tiny smile and I was  
lost forever.

"We have heard little from Masham of late," I said, wondering  
if those lips of yours were the envy of your less fortunate  
brothers, perhaps your sisters as well. "Of your kindness,  
perhaps you would enlighten us on the state of your lands and  
city while here at court. We would be very interested in what  
you might tell us."

"Gladly, my Liege," you replied graciously. "But I fear you  
will find life in Masham very dull compared to London, we are  
but a lonely spot on the vast terrain of His Majesty's  
kingdom."

"Tales of a dull hamlet please our ear more than London's  
uproar which to us is all too common. Come, take up a cup and  
tell us of your fields, of this grassy spot you so belittle  
and yet we love as much as if it were our kingdom entire.  
Come, follow us, Lord Scroop of Masham." 

I rose and you followed, the mouths of my uncle and cousins  
gaping slackjawed behind us. Even my dearest York looked more  
befuddled than usual, his innocent heart wiser than my jaded  
one -- a foolish heart that took you into its confidence at  
first glance.

Many cups followed and you were as merry and wise as any man  
I'd known, more beautiful than any lady, so much so that I  
hesitated before inviting you to my bed. I, reprobate and dog  
I'd been in my youth felt the unfamiliar stirring of modesty  
at the sight of your bashful eyes, your dark hair curling  
alongside soft cheeks, flushed and warm. 

Dare I corrupt you, I thought, not knowing the heart I sought  
to protect had little need for such tenderness. Oh, I should  
have taken you then and there, like a whore sprawled upon the  
table, rent those fine clothes until you were gasping naked  
beneath me, begging for mercy only to find your mouth filled  
and your ass impaled -- that's what I should have done. 

But no, I loved you already and so forced myself to wait,and  
woo. 

Walks in the gardens afterwards, your manners so pleasing and  
perfect, your counsel sensible and straightforward, your  
glances passionate. My kinsmen, jealous at first, also fell  
victim to your charms, all but my uncle who was not impressed  
with what he called "these courtesan ways" you possessed.

With a sharp tongue, I bade him to be silent, this Lord of  
Exeter who could have cut me down without effort if he so  
desired. He obeyed me, God knows why, and I spoke to him  
little more.

Forgive me, my uncle. Forgive me my blindness.

Those walks turned into secret meetings, often behind the  
turret walls, my trusted guards discreetly turning the other  
way. I remember our first embrace, how I fumbled like a  
schoolboy at your throat, covering you with kisses, your eyes,  
your cheeks and finally your lips which were honey-sweet.

You returned my passion and what nights we spent together,  
twining around one another often until morning, your sweet  
whispers filled with disbelief that I could hold you in such  
high esteem, wondering what you'd done to deserve such favors. 

You claimed to be mine, offered yourself as my property, body  
and soul, little knowing that I, Henry of England, Lord  
Sovereign of Britain, was yours.

Dear Heaven, what you could have done with me and in your  
defense, I must say you never did take advantage of what was  
too easily obtained. A jest would have earned you a castle,  
a sigh a dukedom -- a kiss a country. I would have laid  
France at your feet, forced the proud Dauphin to bow to you, a  
simple country lord of Masham, basking in the adoring favor of  
his king.

I was going to win France for you ... but you had other plans.

Those were happier days, were they not, my Lord Scroop? I  
called you Harry, you called me Sire, and the fond court  
wasn't scandalized ... except for my uncle. Again, the  
lectures he riled me with, the doubts he tried to inspire ...  
all for naught. I even threatened him with banishment   
if he would not be silent, but he continued until I turned a  
deaf ear, speaking to him only when matters of state required  
me to. 

How enraged he was, but my love for you was unalterable. I  
would have forsaken my kin, my kingdom, even my name for you  
and he knew it, and could do nothing but watch -- and wait. 

I wonder if he enjoyed seeing you hang.

A winter to a winter you spent in my bed and by the time  
spring came, I was more in love with you than ever, feeling  
the lion in my blood, ready to gain you a kingdom for us to  
share in secret, for the rest of our lives.

Until my uncle showed me the proof of your betrayal and all  
life's joy disappeared from my soul.

How much did they give you, Harry? Some say it was thirty  
silver, but surely they confuse you with Judas -- not that I  
blame them. It couldn't have been so little, could it? You  
had the heart of a king, Harry, you owned it outright. You  
could have killed me a dozen times as I lay sleeping beside  
you, by God, you could have killed me with a harsh word, and  
yet ... 

You waited, until the last and worst moment. To slay me in  
front of my army in Southampton, surely sealing your own death  
in the bargain. I can only assume you hated me, since your  
allegiance to France was unknown to all I spoke with after.  
They offered you no land, no title ... nothing but a bag of  
gems and a few coins that might have been plucked from the  
mud, tossed at your feet as if you were a dog begging a bone. 

Could this have enticed you to murder me, Harry? Was it  
really enough?

Since you are now dead on my orders, I suppose I will never  
know.

I should be thankful for my rage, it saved me from weeping in  
front of my men. Still, my last words to you were more of a  
scorned lover than a betrayed king, for though your treason  
was toward the crown, it was the man who felt its agony.

Such terrible, unimaginable agony.

Later I heard whispers you'd taken to the bed of Lord Grey,  
that he was the one who turned your heart against me, but I  
will not believe this was so, never. I will think better of  
you than that, for even now my heart aches for your loss. 

Does that surprise you, Harry? Does it surprise you that I  
still love you, that I will win France, not for myself or for  
England, but for you? Does it surprise you that I debated  
letting you kill me, that you would have had my blood if you'd  
done it in our chambers, alone, just you and I? That my dying  
breath would have been your pardon and my bloodless lips would  
have kissed your sword ... does this surprise you?

I would have gladly died by your hand, Harry, if my life were  
my own.

But it's not, my Lord Scroop of Masham. My life never  
belonged to me. It is England's and so I go forth and do  
England's business, without regret. A king is not allowed to  
mourn, not when the game is afoot, not when France waits for  
its rightful sovereign to take its throne. 

Perhaps one day, I will look back and think of your sorrowful  
eyes, the passion your pleas for a pardon of your memory,  
since your body I could not spare. Perhaps I will remember  
the words of love you showered me with, the countless kisses  
shared as the dawn peeked through our chamber window.

And then, I will weep for you, Harry. My friend, my love ...  
my betrayer.

I will weep for you, I think. 

Someday.

-----  
end

Comments welcome! Flames used for marshmallows. :-)  
[makolane@aol.com][1]

   [1]: mailto:makolane@aol.com



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